“Shhh,” he whispers against me, his breath sending shivers up and down my skin, making my nipples perk and my heart race.
“My dad is home,” I warn without any conviction.
“We’ll be quiet.” His tongue strokes through my folds again, and my back arches away from the mattress. Joel rolls his tongue over me, and I moan against the lip I’m biting.
He chuckles and presses a soft, wet kiss against my thigh. He knows he’s torturing me, and he’s loving it.
“You’re a jerk,” I say, and he looks up at me from under thick black lashes. He’s on his stomach at the foot of my bed, and he shifts so that his lips are hovering above the most sensitive part of me.
“I’m a what?” Each word sends a fresh warm breath drifting over me, another wave of tingles.
“A jerk,” I maintain in a quiet, timid voice, and Joel gives me a dark smile before planting an impossibly light kiss against my tense little bud.
Another light kiss. A light nibble, a light lick, a light suck.
“Joel,” I whine.
“Is this not nice?”
“No,” I growl, but I’ve barely said the word when his eager mouth devours me and I moan far louder than I mean to.
Joel crawls over top of me a second later, shimmying out of his boxers, bracing his elbows along my sides, and then—
“Oh,” I gasp as he sinks deep inside me.
“Fuck,” he breathes with his forehead pressed against mine. His body shudders under my fingertips, and my thighs tremble around his hips. “I really, really missed you.”
I tilt my chin up and suck his bottom lip between my teeth as he sets a steady pace. I kiss him and control my breathing to keep from crying out. My fingers sink into the tight skin of his back, and my headboard knocks against the wall.
“Shit,” I hiss, breaking my lips from Joel’s so that he’ll stop moving and the wooden headboard will stop threatening to wake up my dad. It’s not the first time I’ve had a boy in my room—far from it—but that still doesn’t mean I want my dad to hear his little girl having sex under his roof while she’s home for Easter vacation.
In the moonlight filtering in through my still open window, Joel reaches one arm up to grab the top of my headboard, pulling it away from the wall. Cold air wraps itself around us, and he holds the headboard steady as he rocks back into me. The sight of him like that, with one hand braced on the mattress beside me and the other supporting his taut body above me, makes it hard to breathe, and I can’t help myself—I lift away from the warmth of my sheets to suck his cold nipple ring into my mouth, flicking my tongue inside the metal hoop and scratching my fingernails up his sides.
“Dee,” Joel pleads. His voice cracks, and I know he’s close.
I lower my head back to my pillow, and he never takes his eyes off me as he resumes his movement in slow, long thrusts. They grow slower and slower until they stop altogether.
“I wish you could see yourself right now,” he says. “You have no idea how beautiful you look.”
Maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s something else, but I suddenly need him in my arms, and I need to feel myself in his.
“Come here,” I say, and he releases my headboard to settle over top of me, lowering his lips to mine and kissing me slowly, leisurely. “Just go slow,” I whisper.
Joel’s hips move slowly, his fingers brushing my cheek, my hair, my neck. We move together until early morning, when I whimper against his mouth and he pulses inside me. Afterward, with him still buried all the way inside me, I wrap my arms around him and hold him like I’ve never held any man ever.
After a while, he kisses the side of my jaw and gets up to close the window, but then he crawls back into bed with me and wraps me in his arms. I play the role of the little spoon, content to let him hold me.
We fall asleep together, we wake together, and the next morning, I’m lying on my stomach watching him get dressed. His back muscles ripple as he bends over to pick his worn-soft jeans off the floor, and my blood heats when I remember the way those muscles flexed under my fingertips just a few hours ago.
“I’m not going to call you,” he says as he buttons his jeans, and my brow furrows.
“Why not?”
He lifts his gaze, and I can see he’s serious. “It’s your turn. I did it first the last time.” He leans down and kisses me, softly. A fragile breath escapes me. “If you miss me,” he instructs, “then pick up the phone.”
When he pulls away, I collect myself and tease, “I think I’m set for a while.”
Joel tickles my side until I take the tease back so that I don’t end up screaming and waking my dad, and then he stands and motions for me to give him his shirt. I pull it over my head and hand it back, doing my best not to pout when he covers all of that gorgeously toned skin. He licks his fingers and tries to salvage some semblance of the spiked mohawk he arrived with last night, and then he wipes his hands on the front of his jeans while I find my own shirt bunched under the covers and pull it over my head.
“Where are you parked?” I ask.
Last night, before we fell asleep, I asked about his new car and he told me he bought a clunker from a friend. He got the name of my hometown from Adam, looked my dad up in the white pages, and crossed his fingers while guessing which window was mine. I still can’t believe he finally bought a car, or that he did it just to see me, but it makes me want to forgive him for not talking to me these past three days.